GUVAN

I stride into City Hall, the weight of the briefcase in my hand a trivial burden compared to the weight of dealing with men like Boss Hoag.

The air smells faintly of cheap lemon cleaner and desperation.

My eyes sweep the lobby, catching on the cluster of Cold Slither bikers lounging near the entrance.

Their leather jackets gleam with the gang’s cobra emblem, and their presence is as subtle as a gunshot in a library.

They don’t move, don’t speak—just watch.

Like predators waiting for a reason to strike.

I keep my expression neutral, but my instincts itch.

They’re grolgath . I’d bet my scales on it.

Their human disguises are convincing, but I can almost taste the reptilian stench beneath the cologne.

Still, Veritas rules bind me. No interference unless there’s direct proof of their meddling. For now, they’re just bikers. For now.

The secretary at the front desk looks up, her eyes widening as she recognizes me. “Mr. Irons! Mayor Hoag is expecting you.” Her voice is an octave too high, her smile painted on like a bad watercolor.

“I’d hope so,” I say, my tone flat. “I don’t make a habit of dropping by unannounced.”

The door to Hoag’s office bursts open before I can even finish my thought. The man himself waddles out, his suit straining against his bulk, and his headpiece—some kind of synthetic monstrosity—shifts slightly as he moves. His hand is outstretched before he’s fully in the room.

“Gary! Always a pleasure, always a pleasure.” His handshake is overly enthusiastic, his palm slick with sweat. I suppress the urge to wipe my hand on my trousers when he finally lets go.

“Mayor,” I say with a nod, my voice clipped. “Let’s get to business.”

“Of course, of course!” He ushers me into his office, a space that reeks of stale cigars and self-importance.

A scale model of the dam project dominates the room, perched on a table like a trophy.

Hoag gestures to it with a flourish. “A thing of beauty, isn’t it?

Progress, Gary. That’s what we’re building here. Progress.”

“Progress,” I repeat, my tone neutral. I set the briefcase down and open it, pulling out a stack of documents. “The permits are in order. The environmental assessments—revised, as you requested. Everything’s moving forward.”

Hoag’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes flicker with something greasier than enthusiasm. “Excellent, excellent. Just one small thing, Gary. A minor detail, really. Administrative fees. Bureaucracy, you know how it is. An additional sixty thousand should cover it.”

I stare at him, letting the silence stretch until it’s uncomfortable. “Sixty thousand?” My voice is low, almost a growl. “For what , exactly?”

Hoag laughs nervously, his jowls jiggling. “Oh, you know. Paperwork. Inspections. The usual red tape.”

“The usual red tape,” I repeat, my tone icy.

I lean forward, letting my height and presence loom over him.

“Let me make something clear, Mayor. I’m not one of your desperate constituents.

I’m not a man you can strong-arm or swindle.

If you think I’m going to hand over sixty thousand dollars for nothing , you’re mistaken. ”

His smile falters, and he takes a half-step back. “Now, Gary, let’s not be hasty. We’re partners in this, aren’t we?”

“Partners don’t try to extort each other,” I say, my voice sharp enough to cut steel. “Drop it. Now.”

He swallows hard, his face flushing. “Of course, of course. No harm in asking, eh?”

I snort, gathering my documents and snapping the briefcase shut. “Asking and demanding are two very different things,” I say, turning toward the door. But as I reach for the handle, I pause, glancing back at him. “By the way—what’s with the bikers outside? Cold Slither, isn’t it?”

Hoag’s face lights up like I’ve handed him a lifeline. “Oh, them? Just extra security. You know how it is these days. Can’t be too careful.”

“Extra security,” I say, my tone dripping with skepticism. “For a government building? In Coldwater?”

He chuckles, but it’s a nervous sound. “They’re not causing any trouble. Just, uh, keeping an eye on things. Making sure everything runs smoothly.”

I narrow my eyes, my fingers tightening around the briefcase handle. “They better stay that way. If they step out of line?—”

“They won’t,” Hoag interrupts, his voice too loud, too eager. “They’re professionals, Gary. Nothing to worry about.”

“Good,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Because if they do, I’ll handle it. Personally.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I stride out of the office, my boots clicking sharply against the polished floor.

The Cold Slither bikers watch me as I pass, their eyes cold and calculating.

I meet their gaze, my jaw tight, , the air feels charged, like the calm before a storm.

But then I’m out the door, stepping into the cold Montana air, and the tension snaps like a taut wire.

For now, they’re just bikers. For now.

The limo’s interior is quiet except for the hum of the engine and the faint static of the autopilot system.

I lean back in the leather seat, my fingers brushing against something sharp on the cushion beside me.

A shard of glass, no bigger than a fingernail, glints in the dim light.

I pick it up, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger.

Sunrise on Vakuta. Or what’s left of it.

My chest tightens, a wave of anger and grief crashing over me.

I was supposed to punish her. Reily. She destroyed the only thing I had left of my parents, my home, my past. And yet…

Instead of breaking her, I let her in. I let her see me, truly see me, in a way no one has in centuries.

She slipped past my defenses like they were nothing, like I was nothing.

And now, I can’t stop thinking about her.

The way she felt beneath me, the way she looked at me when my image inducer faltered, the way she knew me.

I hate this. I hate the vulnerability, the helplessness. I hate her for making me feel this way. My fist closes around the shard, the sharp edges digging into my palm. I should cut her out of my life, tell her to stay far away from me before she burrows any deeper.

The thought makes my stomach twist. No. I can’t let her go. I won’t. She’s mine, and I’ll remind her of that—remind her who’s in charge.

I grab my phone, my fingers moving quickly to her contact. My thumb hovers over the call button, but I hesitate. No. Text is safer. Less revealing.

Come. Now.

The response is almost instantaneous. Those three dots taunt me, mocking my impatience. Who is she talking to? Another man? My jaw tightens, jealousy flaring hot and sharp in my chest.

I’m sorry, MASTER but you’ll have to put in more work than that. Earth women can’t just have orgasms on command.

The emojis she adds—a laughing cat, an eggplant—irritate me further. I growl low in my throat, my thumb jabbing at the screen.

I mean come over. Immediately.

Can’t. There’s no one to watch my mother.

My teeth grind together. Of course. Always something standing in my way. But I’m not a man who takes no for an answer.

Then I will provide staff to stay with her.

Are you showing off, she replies, or was it really that good?

I smirk despite myself. Both, little human. Both.

The staff will arrive shortly. Come over once they arrive and you have briefed them on your mother’s needs.

Okay.

The single word sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. But then she adds, My apologies. I’ll be there as soon as I am able—Master.

Good. She’s learning. But it’s not enough to quell the storm raging inside me. Anger, desire, loneliness—they collide in a chaotic mess, churning in my gut. I arrange the mom sitters through my assistant, my fingers moving quickly over the screen. It’s done.

I lean back in the seat, my hand resting on the growing bulge in my trousers. Soon. She’ll be here soon. I’ll have her, and I’ll remind her who she belongs to. My fingers tighten, the fabric straining. Soon.